


Confide in Me

by erda



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Wincest - Freeform, dub con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-05-12
Updated: 2009-05-12
Packaged: 2017-10-07 14:11:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/65910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erda/pseuds/erda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean touches a charm that loosens his tongue, and Sam can't keep from taking advantage of the situation.  Dean is messed up. So is Sam.</p><p>Reader beware: This is at least dub con.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Confide in Me

**Author's Note:**

> This story deals with issues of consent and contains non graphic references to child sexual abuse. People who are easily triggered beware. Also, if you are depressed or prone to depression, you probably shouldn't read this.
> 
> I have a hard time picturing how a needy, motherless child could be left unsupervised for days at a time without attracting the attention of a pedophile, so it's part of my personal fanon that Dean has been sexually abused at some point, maybe more than once.
> 
> This story would never have been completed without the help of the ficfinishing community. After completion it sat on my hard drive for weeks until my beta skinscript focused her considerable talents on it and helped me clean up some of the things that were bugging me.

"Hard life, isn't it?" Dean asked. The waitress turned a suspicious gaze on him as she placed the check beside his cup. The garish make up she'd used to try to disguise the age lines on her face had only made things worse, making her look half embalmed. Dean bit his lip, disquiet making the hairs on his neck stand up. "You look tired," he said. She shrugged off the foreignness of his interest, pulling her hand back when he reached for the check. He left her a bigger than normal tip to forestall the impulse to follow her stiffly retreating figure and force her to accept his sympathy.

Back at the motel Sammy took first turn in the shower when his rock broke Dean's scissors again. "It's a win-win for me," Dean couldn't help confessing, and Sam gave him a quizzical look as he gathered up his towel and razor, but didn't say anything.

As soon as the bathroom door closed behind Sam, Dean whipped out his phone and called Bobby, told him what they'd been working on for the last few days. "I didn't touch it at all," he said.

Bobby gave a non-committal grunt. "How'd you transport it?" he asked.

"In my pocket."

"Yeah, dumb ass, but how did it get into your pocket?"

"I just… I didn't touch the amulet itself. It's on a chain. I only touched the chain. So I'm good, right?"

 

Bobby sighed his halfway between, 'you're wasting my time with nothing' and his 'this will end badly' sigh, the one that meant 'you're an idiot and this is not good but ultimately it won't be fatal.' He'd spent too much of his life being sighed at by Bobby.

"I do not sigh at you all the time," Bobby said. "If I sighed every time you knuckleheads did something stupid I'd be oxygen deprived."

"Sorry," Dean said, "I didn't mean to say that out loud-"

"Yeah, look Dean," Bobby interrupted. "I know that amulet. The spell tends to rub off onto anything it's in contact with for more than a few minutes, so the charm's in the chain as well as the amulet itself. Not as strong as if you touched the amulet, but it also tends to be more effective with some people than others, and someone like you is liable to be very vulnerable to it."

"Someone like me?"

**

 

Dean didn't waste any time when Sam emerged from the bathroom. "Look," he said, trying to keep his voice from flying up out of its normal register. "I need you to scram for a while. Take a couple of days off, give me some space."

Sam didn't say anything, just stood dripping onto the floor and staring until Dean turned away. "Can you do that for me?" The sound of Sam roughly scrubbing the towel over his hair was loud and uncompromising, scrub, scrub, scrub. When the noise stopped Dean snuck a peek at him. "Come on, man," he said, running his hand through his own hair nervously. "Look, I'm not in any danger or anything, I wouldn't ask you if it wasn't important. You gotta give me some space, just for a few days."

"Gonna have to do a lot better than that, Dean," Sam finally said. Dean could feel him standing stolidly behind him waiting for more information.

He grabbed Sam's clean clothes and shoved them at him. "Get dressed, Dude." He knew Sam would have to have a better explanation before he would just take off - Dean certainly wouldn't leave Sam that easily, so it was only fair, but he could feel all the words he didn't want to say crowding out the ones he did, making it hard to say anything without saying everything.

"This has something to do with the amulet, doesn't it?" Sam frowned at him as he shook out his jeans and pulled them on. "Damn it, Dean, I told you to just get friendly with the girl and hold off on trying to get the thing off her until I could figure out exactly what it was."

"Yes, fine, it's the amulet," Dean said. "I still don't see why you didn't just let me call Bobby about it in the first place." He took a breath, aware that he was talking faster than usual. "Bobby's a better resource than most of your books. I don't get your need to operate alone."

Sam shook his head. "Man, we've been over this. Bobby has his own jobs, and we can't expect him to do ours all the time. We can at least try to dig up information on our own before we run to him. Now stop trying to change the subject and tell me about the amulet."

"Fine," Dean said. "It's some sort of truth spell or something. Loosens your tongue. Sam, please, just… you really need to leave me alone. Bobby swears it'll wear off in a couple of days. Please, Sammy, please." He was breathing so fast he felt like he was getting buzzed from the oxygen overload. He hadn't felt this panicked since his bout with the ghost virus.

Sammy, fucking genius that he was, got it, got it completely, and he pulled his shirt on roughly and grabbed hastily at the car keys. "Okay, yeah, I'm outta here," he said. Dean collapsed onto the bed as the door closed, feeling like he'd dodged a bullet of unusual caliber.

Unfortunately the relief didn't last long. He needed to talk to somebody, anybody (Sam).

Why did it have to be his job to get the amulet in the first place? Just because Sam thought he could get closer to the witch than Sam could didn't make it true. He was faster than Sam with women, but there was never any doubt that they liked Sam more. Women were always willing to bed him; he didn't think that anyone could be around him long without the thought of sex crossing their mind. It was in the look of him, the way he moved. Everything he did put the thought into peoples' heads. He never knew how to respond when Sam told him not to come on to people, he'd laugh and shrug it off because he didn't know how to do that, how to not. People just naturally liked the look of him, but they didn't want him close the way they did Sam.

He couldn't explain any of that when they had set up the plan to lift the amulet off the witch's neck, though. Sam had just given him that disgusted look and insisted that Dean could get close and lay the groundwork for sneaking it off her without any trouble while Sam did some research into what the thing did.

He really wanted to blame this whole mess on Sam, but he couldn't get around the fact that he was the one who had decided to seize the opportunity to snatch the amulet before they even knew what it was. Sam had wanted to wait, but Dean had been worried the witch would slip through their fingers, and he'd been so sure that he was safe from the charm as long as he didn't directly touch it.

"Sammy," his hand was cramping from the way he was gripping his phone so tight, every muscle hardened into resistance in vain. "I need you to… Sammy, I want you to," the tears were spilling down his face now, and he was no fucking way going to cry over the phone to his little brother, cry and spill every stinking thought that could break them into pieces even their powers of denial couldn't mend. "Get rid of the phone, okay, Sammy? Please, Sam." A dead line was the only response, but he couldn't keep himself from redialing the number twice, the compulsion to talk to Sam, to tell him every thought no matter what the cost, was so overwhelming.

He was muttering to himself, all the words he didn't want to say, didn't even want to think about, spilling out like vomit into the empty room. He had to get up and out, find someone safe to talk to, or, at least, less dangerous than anyone who knew him.

A bar was perfect. He could get stinking drunk, spill whatever secrets he couldn't hold in to a pretty stranger who would dismiss anything he said as crazy drunk talk, and walk away free and clear when the power of the charm faded. He left his phone in the room.

**

 

Dean couldn't shake off the feeling that he was being watched, an anxiety provoking prickle on the back of his neck and along his bare arms. He kept casting uneasy glances around the bar. It was interfering with his concentration, putting his aim a shade off, and he was missing shot after shot. His opponent, tall rangy guy with a slow motion smile, didn't seem to be putting much effort into beating him. His hands engulfed the cue as he lined up his shot, eyes flicking up to make sure Dean was watching when he slid the stick smoothly through his huge fist, giving a little twist of his wrist at just the right moment to put a small spin on the ball. He straightened up with a smug look and tapped the cue on the floor gloatingly.

Dean stepped over to the guy's side so he could study the table from his opponent's viewpoint, well aware that he shouldn't have to do that. Normally he could scan the table in a second, know how it would look from every angle, but he was way off his game tonight, words, confidences, secrets pressing against the back of his teeth like bile, thoughts going crazy places he didn't want to think about, much less talk about.

They were standing too close, so close that when the guy leaned over he brushed against Dean's hip. He didn't smell right, smoked too much, the smell of too many cigarettes permeating his clothing. "You got a name?" the guy asked. He had a surprisingly soft voice for such a big guy.

"Name's Dean," he said. He didn't want the guy to know his real name, but his deeply ingrained need to lie had been tucked away inside him by the charm.

The guy missed his shot, smiled. He studied Dean's face and throat before sweeping his gaze openly down Dean's body. "I'm William," he said.

"Let's call it a night," Dean said. "Come back to my room with me," and wow, he clearly wasn't going to be doing subtle while the charm was working on him.

William straightened up, grinning at his frankness, spread his arms out wide in a gesture so familiar it made his chest ache. "I'm all yours," he said. "Lead the way."

Dean made it almost all the way back to his room before the need to speak, to share everything going through his head, overwhelmed him. He made a last, futile effort to hold the words inside by grabbing onto the guy and pressing their mouths together, but it didn't work. He pushed William back and started running off at the mouth. "Want to fuck me, don't you?" he asked. It was a relief to let loose and say any and every embarrassing thought going through his mind. "I know you do, just take what you want, it's free for the asking. Want to feel it. Feel your cock in me."

"Yeah, sure, whatever you want," William said, pulling his head down and biting at his lips. He laughed. "Gotta pretty mouth on you, boy."

Dean flushed, but he was in too deep to make any reasonable protest to that. William slammed him back against the door. "Open the fucking door, Dean," William said, still laughing at his eagerness.

Speaking had given him a breather from the spell's pressure, and he had a moment's second thought about what he was doing. He didn't even like this asshole, or maybe he would if the guy would shut up, not that he was in any position to complain about people running off at the mouth. This William guy didn't have the excuse he had, of course, but on the other hand, he was quite the looker, tall and shaggy haired with large, strong, capable hands that made Dean shiver when William grabbed roughly at his hips. Dean decided since he'd already embarrassed himself thoroughly with the guy, he might as well stick with it. Hooking up with someone else would just add to the list of strangers he'd blabbed his thoughts to.

He finally got the door unlocked, and William pulled him into the room with a predatory grin. "You like being pushed around, don't you?' he asked.

"Yeah, I like it," Dean said unwillingly. It was just the kind of thing he hated to share even with himself, and he couldn't keep the dismay from his face at the stupid way he sounded. Judging by his expression, fucking creepy William thought that was hilarious, and Dean felt like punching his big stupid face almost as much as he wanted to bang his own head on something, preferably something like a big bass drum that would be loud enough to drown out his own voice telling a total stranger this moronic shit.

"Aw, don't be that way," William said in a phony, cloying, maudlin voice that made Dean want to move to the other bed, the one with the knife under the pillow.

"Just shut the fuck up and get undressed," he said instead, the words coming out easily.

Still grinning smugly, William unbuttoned his shirt and placed it carefully across the sickly green plastic chair next to the bed, the chair Sam had had his own clothes draped over while he was in the shower earlier. Dean had his shirt pulled over his head when he heard someone fiddling with the lock on the door. As quickly as he shed his shirt the door opened. "What the hell, Sam," he said, standing stupidly with his shirt still balled up, small and crumpled in one hand.

Sam looked frozen in place, eyes wide and freaked.

"What's wrong?" Dean asked, wondering how he could be so stupid as to leave Sam out in the world alone without at least a phone to connect them. "What's happened?" He grabbed Sam's arm and gave him a little shake. "What is it, Dude?"

Sam didn't pay any attention to him. He was staring at William. Shaking his head and making a low growling noise like an angry junkyard dog, he grabbed William's shirt from the chair, tossing it into the poor guy's bewildered face. "Get dressed and get out," he said. William seemed eager to obey, so eager that he rushed out without even bothering to put his shirt on first. Sam glared after him.

"Damn it, Sam, what's happened?" Dean asked again.

Sam still didn't answer, but he turned back to Dean, crowding him back against the wall and staring him down, his face furious. "Fuck, Sam, what is the fucking matter?" Sam was breathing heavily into his face, his eyes dark and crazy looking. "Sam, you're scaring me here. Talk to me, man."

That finally seemed to penetrate whatever haze of emotion was clouding his brother's big brain, and Sam broke off with the staring. "I'm sorry, Dean. I know you wanted me to leave you alone, but without my phone-" Sam leaned, his mouth was practically brushing the side of Dean's head. He could feel Sam's breath rustling his hair as he spoke, voice getting softer. "I just wanted to make sure you were alright. I wasn't going to even let you know I was around, just wanted to keep an eye on you, but I can't stand this too, Dean. The girls are bad enough. You can't expect me watch this, too, because I can't do it."

Sam didn't seem to be aware of the way his hand was stroking down Dean's side as he spoke, but Dean felt it like a brand, searing into him and making his chest tighten with panic. He grabbed Sam's wrist and pushed him away. "What the hell do you think you're doing, Brother?" he asked, his voice as cold as the pain in his chest.

"Don't be like that, Dean," Sam said. "Please." His voice shook a little, like he was on the verge of tears, which was so unfair that it infuriated Dean and strengthened his resolve.

"Back off, Sam," he said.

"Tell me what you really want," Sam said knowingly, pressing in even closer.

His willingness to capitalize on the spell chilled Dean. "I want you to get off me for starters," Dean said honestly.

Sam ran his long fingers down Dean's chest and over the hard bulge at his crotch. "Your body is saying something different, Dean. I don't think you really want me to back off."

He knew the days when he was strong enough to push Sam away in a straight forward physical showdown were long gone, but he tried anyway. Without the element of surprise, he couldn't budge Sam's huge bulked up body at all. "Listen to me real carefully, Sam, and back the fuck off." Sam pressed against him, actually rubbed his very hard dick against him, and Dean had to take a breath to keep from losing the contents of his stomach. "That's never going to happen, Sam. Never."

"Why not, Dean?" Sam's voice had gone into that angry, stubborn mode Dean hated. "You're as hard as I am, and we both know it. It's too late to try to convince me you don't do guys, and I'm not gonna stand by and watch you take it from a stranger."

"I don't believe it's okay to stick my dick everywhere it's ever thought about going," Dean said, "and I'm amazed that you do."

It would have been okay, they could have got past this mess, but then Sam stopped pushing and touching, and asked him the one question he didn't want to give an honest answer to. "Just tell me why, Dean? Why do you want me to stop?"

Dean groaned and turned his face away, but the damning words forced their way out into the air anyway. "Don't want to hurt you, Sammy. I just can't hurt you like that. Please don't make me."

"Fuck," Sam said and dropped his head, caught at Dean's mouth, slid his tongue along Dean's lower lip with a groan. Dean could feel the fight draining out of his chest as Sam slowly pushed into his mouth. He knew the gradations of Sammy's pain from mild discomfort all the way through to agony, but this wasn't the kind of pain he had the bandage for. The mantra of don't hurt Sammy, just another facet of keep Sammy safe, too often became stop hurting Sammy. He'd struggled always with his failures, and it was harder and harder to tease apart the meaning of the things he'd always lived by, when he no longer knew what hurting Sammy was, what the difference was between what Sammy wanted and what he needed. He always seemed to end up giving him what he wanted, but the things Sam wanted now were far more dangerous than a bowl of Fruit Loops.

Dean pulled away from Sam's too tempting mouth. He needed to get control of this situation while he still could. "Since when are you interested in guys, anyway?" he asked.

"Since always," Sam answered.

"Another secret, Sam?"

Dean was pretty good at picking arguments with Sam, but Sam rejected the bait this time with a smile. "Uh, don't think you're in a good position to complain about this particular secret, Dean. At least I don't make disparaging remarks about my own sexual proclivities." He leaned his head down onto Dean's shoulder as if he was too weary to stand up on his own. "Don't you see how it is, Dean? Don't you understand why I went to Ruby in the first place? Who else do I have that will stay by me? There's no one but you, and there isn't going to be, can't be, anyone else. You've gotta give me something, Dean."

Dean's hand had wrapped around the back of Sam's neck by itself and was stroking him there. "Yeah," he said. "I will Sammy, I want to, just… don't ask me for something I can't give you."

Sam drew in a deep, breath, shuddering slightly, and straightened up. "Fine, I won't. But I don't want to sleep alone anymore." He met Dean's gaze firmly. "I want you to share a bed with me. Just to sleep, for company. Because I can't keep on like this, alone all the time, fighting things we don't understand, taking everything on faith. Not after everything that's happened."

Dean knew it was a bad idea, but he didn't smell any better ones in the air, so he nodded. "Okay, I can do that," he said, with far more confidence than he felt. He could feel Sam quiet down. He could do this for Sam, if it would help. Maybe it would even keep him away from Ruby, in which case it would be well worth the discomfort.

By nightfall the spell had lost its punch and Dean was able to keep his mouth shut as tight as he wanted. Bedtime was beyond tense. Sam kept glaring at him, as if he could stare down any impulse Dean might have to change his mind.

Dean lay down nervously, as close to the edge of the bed as he could, and Sam, even though it was his stupid idea, hugged the other edge just as awkwardly. A few minutes after turning off the light Sam slid over, snugging one arm over Dean to rest lightly on his stomach. Dean felt a moment of panic as he waited to see what else Sam would do, but there was nothing. He was tilted away from Dean so that his arm was the only point of contact between them. Dean was resigned to lying awake and tensed up most of the night, but when Sam's breathing deepened and slowed, and he realized Sam didn't intend to do anything but sleep, he felt himself getting warmly drowsy. Sam's arm across him said safety, Sam's safety, and in the dark he admitted to himself that he sometimes craved this kind of touching, a kind he hadn't felt since he was a child.

He came awake slowly, opened his eyes to the faint light of dawn, the small sounds of Sam moving next to him. He knew it wouldn't last. They were too close, and sleeping together was playing with fire. He opened his eyes with a feeling of resignation. Sam's eyes, at least, were closed, not staring at him as he'd expected, but his hand was stripping his cock roughly, clearly close to coming, and Dean's stomach tightened with something like rage, but a weary rage without any force behind it.

He watched Sam's orgasm rip through him, listened to the little whimpers Sam couldn't quite repress, watched as Sam opened his eyes and saw him watching. Sam's mouth tightened in shame, regret, apology? before he glanced away, his hand still stroking over his twitching cock for a moment. He took a long breath. "I can't help it," he said, and even with his face turned away, Dean could see his expression go stony with anger and stubbornness.

"Yeah," he said. He felt fuzzy, as if he wasn't quite present, all the moments and all the other people colliding with each other, all wanting to touch, to get a piece of him, and he had a moment of defenselessness, his thoughts turning back to one of the many wretched, run down houses his father had rented. He could actually hear the TV droning, smell the alcohol on his father, and he forced his eyes open wide. He wasn't going to think about that, the memory was old and faded and didn't mean a damn thing. His father wouldn't, hadn't, it had only been that once, and it was exaggerated in his mind, because Dad would never…he couldn't choke back the noise in the back of his throat completely. Sam rolled over and stood beside the bed, looking down at him with the resentment on his face replaced by concern.

"Dean?" He reached out toward Dean's face and Dean snapped his head away. "Hey," Sam said softly. He sounded as helpless as Dean felt.

"It's okay," Dean said. It was okay.

"I'm sorry, Dean. I just..."

"Yeah, yeah," Dean cut him off. He didn't want to hear it from Sam, hear all that bullshit. He was too pretty for his own good; he knew that. He knew it wasn't really his fault either, it was nobody's fault, but telling himself that never seemed to help throw off the feeling that if he could find another way to walk, another way to sit, to talk, and to be, this wouldn't keep happening. Couldn't even decide if he wanted it to stop happening. It was his beauty that drew people to him, however briefly, and sometimes it seemed like it was all he had. Even given the strange attraction people had toward him they always left him awfully fast, saw how skin deep his beauty was and took off. He had to try to hold onto Sam any way he could, and it wasn't Sam's fault that his body was all he had to offer. He knew what he had to do, and it wasn't a hardship or anything.

It wasn't difficult at all to reach over and pull Sam in against his chest, his own cock going half hard - clearly he wanted this, too. Sam surged up against him frantically, mouthing his throat and he felt suffocated for a moment, his father's mouth rushing against his ear, and he pushed back weakly against the broad chest pressing him down. "Dean." Sam's voice brought him back from the swirling vortex of memory and he forced himself to relax. It was just Sam. It was just sex. "Dean, I know it's weird, but-"

"S'okay," Dean interrupted. He didn't want to hear anything from Sam, no endearments, no crap he'd heard a million times before. "I'm okay." He pulled Sam's hand down to his cock to show him that he was on board, that everything was okay. He was hard, he wanted Sam. Maybe he could make Sam stay if he didn't push him away. That wasn't a good thought. It made him remember that old house again, and his father's arms, pushing his father away in a panic, not sure what was happening, and Dad letting him go. He wasn't going to think about that anymore. It didn't matter, didn't mean anything.

Sam was stroking him through his sweat pants, and he reached down and returned the favor, traced the outline of Sam's cock, and god, he felt his body respond, arousal coiling in his stomach as he felt how thick and big his brother's cock was, already gong hard again. He couldn't help thrusting into Sam's talented hand a little, and Sam shifted and pressed his hand under the elastic of his sweat pants and grabbed him just right, fingers wrapping tight around his cock and making him whimper and thrust harder.

Fuck, he'd known, he'd imagined Sam being like this, hard and sure and knowing, not the little brother under his influence, but a man who knew what he wanted. "Want to fuck me?" Sam asked.

"No, Sam, I can't," He jerked his head away, that was not the way he could do this, but Sam's arm held him in place, and he couldn't fight, didn't know if he wanted to fight.

"Okay, okay." Sam pressed one firm hand against his mouth, pushing insistently until he leaned back, stretching out on the bed with Sam looming over him, though he had himself partially braced on the hand that wasn't covering Dean's mouth as if he thought Dean couldn't take his full weight, and Dean wanted to feel more, feel Sam's strength and confidence. He grabbed the back of Sam's neck and pulled him down, his legs falling open and welcoming Sam between them. Sam's chest covered him like a heavy blanket for a moment and then Sam rolled onto his side, pulling Dean with him. It was better like this, pressed together.

Sam pushed at his sweat pants and he lifted up, giving him room to pull them off completely. Sam wanted to look at him, of course, and he held himself still, letting Sam get his fill. Sam wanted to touch, of course, and he allowed that too, couldn't not respond to Sam's hands on him and over him and in him.

Things got a little confusing for a while, like he was missing little bits and pieces of what was happening. He heard a clock ticking baldly somewhere. They only ever had a wall clock in that one house. It had been left behind by the previous tenant. It's not like Dad was going to go out and buy a fucking wall clock for a rented house they'd only be in for a few months.

It wasn't a clock after all, just the rhythmic creaking of the old bed frame. Somehow Sam had slicked him up and buried his long fingers deep in Dean's ass. He wanted this, wanted Sam so much. A car passing noisily outside brought him fully into the moment and he stopped thrusting against Sam's hand, flushing guiltily, as if, what? It was just a car, and he let out a panicked breath as the sound of its motor faded.

"You okay?" Sam asked. His voice was so concerned and sincere, so brotherly, that he had to press his lips down tight to hold in the hysterical laughter that wanted to escape. "You're so fucking beautiful like this, Dean," Sam said, as if he thought it was a compliment, as if Dean should be flattered. As if he was the first person who'd ever looked at Dean, and wanted.

Dean felt a surge of triumph anyway as Sam's cock – fuck, so big and thick a cock his little brother had grown - sank into his willing body, because he was good at this. He could make Sam feel this, could hold onto him for a little while at least.

Maybe if he'd been more willing years ago in that old house things might have worked out differently. He pushed that thought away. He knew he couldn't hold on to people for long even when he was willing. It was stupid anyway. He'd been a kid, and he couldn't really remember what exactly had happened. His own sick mind had no doubt misinterpreted perfectly innocent actions on his Dad's part. It was stupid, and it didn't matter a damn. Nothing had happened.

He forced his mind back to the present. Sam's expression was glazed over, lost in his own pleasure, slamming into him roughly and panting on the edge of release.  
**

 

Later, Sam got up and staggered over onto the other bed. Dean was swallowing back rage when Sam grabbed him and tugged him over, too, pulling Dean's head down onto his chest. Dean was so very tired. Sam tilted his face up and he could feel Sam thinking.

"You could have said no," he finally whispered.

"It doesn't matter if I say no."

"What? What does that mean? Dean, you wanted to, right?" Dean kept his face pressed against Sam's chest. He never wanted to hurt Sam, but somehow he always did. "Answer me."

"It doesn't matter want I want." He kept his eyes down, ashamed of his attempt to shift responsibility onto Sam when it clearly wasn't Sam's fault at all.

He was almost asleep when he heard Sam's voice whispering brokenly into his hair. "When you wake up it will all be better. I promise."


End file.
